


Pie

by WritingQuill



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Drabbles [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food Fight, John knows exactly how to play Sherlock, M/M, Shower Kissing, bit of sexytimes as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some thorough convincing, Sherlock is happy to help John make mince pies for Mrs Hudson's Christmas lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7, word: pie. I may have cheated, because there was barely any mention of pies, but oh well. :)

John Watson was the most insufferable man in existence, according to one Sherlock Holmes. Why? Well, he had this ridiculous idea in his head that he would get Sherlock to help him _bake a pie_ for Mrs Hudson’s Christmas lunch. Now, that was preposterous. Sherlock knew it. John should have known it. Even bloody Mycroft probably knew it with all the spying he did around the flat. But no, instead of listening to reason and letting Sherlock continue his invaluable experiment on the fertilisation of cockroaches’ eggs under the skin of a male hand under 2 days post-mortem, John decided he’d just waltz into the kitchen and dictate what Sherlock was supposed to do. 

‘I don’t see why I have to help at all, John,’ Sherlock said, not looking away from his experiment, from sneering all the same. 

‘I promised Mrs Hudson we’d bring something for her Chri—‘ 

‘As I said, I don’t see why my help is necessary, since you were the one who made the promise,’ then Sherlock gave John a pointed smug look that earned him an orange to the head. ‘Ow!’ 

‘Don’t be a smart-arse, you git,’ John approached him, adopting a face Sherlock found suspicious. ‘Look, you care for Mrs Hudson, right? You like to do nice things for her… Why can’t you just help me with this?’ he was standing a few inches away from Sherlock, who could already smell his after-shave, cologne and that John-scent that was unidentifiable. The hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stood and he cleared his throat. No, this could not be happening. Not the John-effect. Not _now_! But John was really close now, so close Sherlock could count the number of lines in John’s blue irises. ‘Come on, it’s just a couple of hours, won’t do you any harm… Then you can finish this, hm, experiment…’ John was staring deep into his eyes, but Sherlock was not about to fold. 

‘I, hm, I don’t… I can’t…’ and now he had no words. What had John done to him? John stepped even closer, running a finger on Sherlock’s cheekbone, then cupping his jaw, giving him his best innocent smile. He pulled Sherlock closer and trapped his lips in a soul-melting kiss. His warm lips moved lazily against Sherlock’s, as his hands tickled the nape of his neck. John’s tongue made an appearance, then, and Sherlock allowed it to pass, meeting it with his own, tasting the tea and Johnness. He put his hands on John’s waist and pulled him closer, their hips clashing, and Sherlock could feel himself getting more heated than he expected in a cold Christmas morning. It was barely nine in the morning, after all! 

Sherlock could already feel himself getting almost to the point of no return, when John pulled back, a smirk on his features, looking into Sherlock’s eyes, his full os mischief. 

‘Are you sure you can’t help?’ 

With a deep, resigned sigh, Sherlock nodded. ‘Fine, I’ll bloody do it,’ he said, letting go of John’s waist, feeling silly for being played like that again. For someone so ordinary, John knew exactly what buttons of Sherlock’s to push in order to get what he wanted. It was one of the reasons Sherlock loved him, actually, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t terribly annoying. 

So, half an hour later, an annoyed, apron-clad Sherlock was standing by a freshly cleaned kitchen table, waiting for his orders on How to Make Mince Pie, provided by his insufferably adorable, jumper-wearing boyfriend. 

John handed him the bowl to mix the dough, and Sherlock did, getting flour somehow all over his hair. Then, because John started to giggle, he threw flour at him, ‘let’s see how funny it is when it’s on you’, which was subsequently followed by a mini-food fight, and that lasted about twenty minutes. They ended up panting - not from fighting, from _something else_ entirely - on the floor, legs entwined, breaths mixed. They, then stood up, got a bit more decent, and tried to finish making the rest of the pie without kissing every fifteen minutes. _It’s difficult, though_ , Sherlock thought, _John looks so warm, I can’t take my hands off him_. They finally managed to finish the pies, which were now in their airtight container, waiting to be served in three days at the Christmas lunch. 

By then, though, Sherlock was past the line of caring about his experiment. All he wanted was to put his hands on John and just lick him clean. Or something possibly less repulsive. But he was gone. Sherlock looked around, only to hear the sound of the shower running. He figured they _were_ a bit filthy from their food fight, and Sherlock remembered John’s voice saying something that didn’t exactly compute. Sherlock huffed a breath and move to their bathroom. The door was unlocked, of course — John never locked doors anymore, since Sherlock was quite good at picking them open — so he entered, to find John humming lightly as he cleansed himself. 

Sherlock figured it would be just a waste of water to have two whole showers dedicated to cleaning flour, really wasteful indeed. So he removed his clothing and tapped lightly on the steamy glass. John’s head snapped to face him in shock. He crooked an eyebrow and Sherlock just shrugged in response, showing and mischievous smirk. With a chuckle, John motioned for him to walk in. 

‘And whats this all about?’ he asked, running a wet hand through Sherlock’s care skin. 

‘Well, I believe some payment is in order for my efforts in the kitchen…’ Sherlock said, getting them both under the stream of water. John chuckled and place a kiss on Sherlock’s chest. 

‘Glad to be of service, then,’ he smiled widely and Sherlock bent down for a kiss.


End file.
